


This Funny Thing Called Love: The Zoe and Wash Chronicles

by zoealleynewashburnes



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Family, Fluff, Married Couple, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Post-Serenity, Pre-Series, Romance, Widowed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 12,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoealleynewashburnes/pseuds/zoealleynewashburnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles about Zoe and Wash, both together and separately. Random moments from before they were married and after. Lots of good ol' fluff, angst, and more. Spoilers for BDM</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Day

Zoe let the last bits of sleep slide off her like a cocoon. The heaviness in her eyes the only obstacle left between her and the waking world. In a minute, she'd be back to that normal life of crime and questionable morals she'd been keeping for the past several months. Something off was nagging at her brain, though, that she couldn't quite figure. Maybe it was the fact she wasn't wearing her ratty old nightgown. She didn't mind though, she hated that thing anyways. No, that wasn't it. Er, well, all of it.

Zoe turned over, finally allowing her eye lids to open. Wash. For a moment, Zoe was confused, but then she remembered and oh boy did she remember. Each touch and sound imprinted through every inch of her body. They'd done it last night, reached that point of no return instead of retreating back like they'd been doing for weeks. Now, though, as Zoe watched the man sleep, she felt no remorse. She smiled to herself, keeping time in the steady movements of his chest. There'd be time for justification later, maybe moments of weariness, but then she inched closer. Zoe basked in the combined heat of their bodies. She felt an infinity pass in that moment, walls of empires crumbling to dust. All that was left, as the dust cleared and the new day began, was Zoe. Pure and unadulterated and content. And it was all because of him.


	2. In the Blood of Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash's death from Zoe's point of view.

Zoe didn't understand. Under the red lights she saw it happen. The relief, the turn, the moving of lips. I'm a leaf on the wind, watch how I— Then something else. A crash and jerk, then nothing. "Wash!"

She's out of the seat, some power other than her brain forcing her body to move towards her husband. He ain't moving. Why ain't he moving? Zoe's seeing, but there's a block. She's pulling at him now, his head falling limp in her hands. A single word manifests in Zoe, tearing everything in her apart. Dead. "Wash baby, baby no," she's pleading now, the red light of the bridge drowning her in blood. "Come on, you gotta move." She wills him to move, shudder, look at her. All those jobs gone south, all them scraps and bruises and bumps they'd had, all she needed was to see that man's eyes and Zoe would be steel again. "You gotta move, baby."

Plenty of times during the war, Zoe thought the world was gonna end. Not her world necessarily, but that the whole of creation would just disappear. Such thoughts were comforts those nights in the trenches, with only the stench of blood and sounds of explosions to keep Zoe company. She learned then that as much as you wished, things kept turning, friends kept dying, stories kept being made. Now, though, as Zoe's mind registered the signs, she once more longed for that end. Maybe that's why she didn't move from the spot. She needed to be with him if everything stopped, needed to be holding him. "Please—"

There was a shift in the air, some warning that maybe she'd get her wish, but then Mal was pulling her down. Another harpoon crashed through the ship, just where Zoe had been moments before. Perhaps if she'd been capable of comprehending, Zoe would have been furious. Captain shouldn't be playing god. The thing should've killed her too. All these thoughts, though, formed later, over days of lonely numbness.

Mal was dragging her now. He pulled her out of the bridge with such a force Zoe'd not even known that man capable of. "No," she struggled against him. She didn't understand. "Wash—" A shadow of pity passed over Mal's face, then a wall of resolve. Why wouldn't he let her go? "We have to go back! We gotta get him!" Captain shook his head, no words. Or at least none that Zoe heard. She tried pushing away from him again, but Mal's grip was all iron. Daze was replaced by fury. "Yi da dwei bun chou roh get the hell off of me!" She clawed at Mal's front, beating his chest in desperate thuds. "We have to— We gotta— He's— He's—" Mal's body was tense and unwavering, a hard truth hidden in his steely face. Zoe's arms dropped. She knew. He knew. There was nothing to be done.

And in that moment, Zoe died, leaving only a soldier in her place.


	3. Messy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe arrives in their bunk to find a mess

Zoe could never understand Wash's obsession with those dinos of his. She knew sentimental value and all that, but she wasn't the most gooshy of girls even on a good day. But then she'd walked into their ransacked bunk, a disheveled Wash in the middle of it all, cradling a stegosaurus in his hands. Clothing was thrown everywhere. Tossed aside sheets created mountainous landscapes across the floor. Entropy let loose.

At first, she'd been angry. All of that gorram mess for a toy?! Really?! But then she saw the worry traced along Wash's face and reaching into his chaos of hair. Zoe bent down beside him, resting a kiss on his forehead. Wash jerked his head up. He hadn't realized she was there. His worry molded itself into a sheepish smile as guilty puppy eyes swept across the room.

"I was thinking how we needed to sort through our things," Zoe's voice held nothing but kindness as she lifted a long forgotten mismatched sock from the floor. "Seems today's as good a day as any." She kissed Wash gently on the lips. When she pulled back, there was a smile on her face. "Besides, ain't everyday a dino storms our bunk."


	4. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe has a nightmare

Zoe knows nightmares. They're as routine as eating and she doesn't even have to work for 'em. They come in the night, most nights, and remind her that what's done is done and there's no going back and in a way she's glad for them. They help her remember who she is and what she lives for. Sometimes, though, they hit harder than usual.

It was the night after Tracy's funeral. A cold had swept into Zoe's gut that not even Wash's warmth could diminish. There was guilt and sorrow and a resolve. It had been her and Mal's bullets in the end. She didn't regret it, not when Wash's life was on the line, it was just a shame. A shame Tracy was gone and a shame his friends had to be the ones carrying his fate. She drifted off to sleep that night with more space between her and Wash than usual.

_"Zoe get down! Incoming grenade"_

_An earth shattering explosion knocks Zoe to the ground. Screams echo everywhere. She's inhaling more dust than air. Vision clouded. Head pounding. Through the haze something's coming at her. Gun. No, no gun. She can't find it. Must have lost it during explosion. She curses under her breath, coughing up dirt all the while. The thing's still at her, an ominous blob of too much mass. She rolls over onto her stomach and lifts her self up._

_The world spins and then stops._

_Suddenly there ain't no more smoke and it's Mal coming towards her. His bloodshot eyes meet hers in a numb, disturbed way and Zoe realizes he's carrying something._

_Calling it a body wouldn't convey the mess of limbs, the missing chunks of flesh, the congealing blood. Poor son of a bitch must've been at the heart of the grenades, Zoe thinks._

_But then something get's her attention._

_"Hey, ain't that shirt—"_

_Agony bursts through Zoe as she clambers over the dead and dying towards Mal. Time goes all funny and now the dismembered man is in her arms._

_No. No!_

_Underneath the layers of blood and dirt, is Wash. He's unrecognizable 'cept for the patterned cloth and lifeless blue eyes that aren't seeing. Zoe cradles him in her arms, shaking him over and over. She's yelling at him now, punching him, pulling at his hair, clawing at his chest. Wash doesn't move._

_"Wake up, baby. Wake the hell up, dammit. You ain't leaving me, not now. Not ever. You hear me, Wash? Hear me! For fuck's sake! Look at me, baby! Baby, please!"_

_His blood is seeping into her, drenching Zoe. How could one man have so much blood? It's like she's drowning. War is still going on around her, but Zoe doesn't care. She's just got to get Wash to move. A flinch, a shudder, anything. She pounds harder against him. She doesn't stop. Zoe can't even tell what she's saying anymore. All she feels is this manifestation of denial. He's dead. He's been dead. It ain't Wash no more._

_Sergeant's back and he's pulling her away. Words about incoming Alliance fleet, landmines, and the like ricochet off Zoe. She doesn't pause. Her body is ontop of what used to be Wash. She smells the death on his bloodied lips. Mal tugs her and she throws him off. He comes again, shaking her and pulling her off of Wash. She tries to throw him off, but it's not working. She writhes and cries out and—_

Zoe's eyes open. She's sitting up, the blankets nothing but a chaotic knot on the floor of the bunk. What moments before were Mal's unwelcomed hands are now Wash's. Unadulterated looks of concern and love emanate from Wash's — oh thank god — very much alive eyes. His fingers are wound tightly around her wrists and she notices fresh scratches on Wash's bare chest. Later she'll apologize, but all Zoe can do is collapse against him. A sob escapes her lungs as she buries herself in Wash. Here, in their bunk, Zoe's free to show weakness. Wash wraps his arms around her and she's overcome by his life. She'll never lose him again, she vows. Even in a stupid nightmare.


	5. Playing House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This new job has left Zoe babysitting.

Zoe knew times were getting tough when the crew took up babysitting. Alright, so it wasn't officially considered that, the real meaning hidden beneath fancy core phrases and seals. Far as Zoe was concerned, though, asking half the crew to look after an infant while the other half played escort and body guard to a wealthy woman of some standing, was just a gussied up excuse to not take away their pride. Too late for that.

The little thing — no bigger than Zoe's arm — was all bundled up in the middle of her bed. Watchful Zoe hovered over it, unsure of exactly what to do now. If it weren't for her recovering shot wound, Zoe'd never be the one staying behind to play mama while some rich snob went to a party. She woulda gone with Mal and Jayne, no questions asked - or needed for that matter. But here she was, in charge because Kaylee was off fixing and Simon was off keeping his sister as far away from the child as possible. Such a small critter, fragile in it's state and River was a ticking time bomb.

A whimper came, then another, and soon enough the boy was wailing, wet and sharp sounds cutting right into Zoe's heart. "Shhh," Zoe reached across the bed and gently cradled him in her arms. She held him close to her chest and rocked him back oh so slowly. "Hush now. Mama will be back real soon." He wiggled a bit, but his cries were quieter and soon enough only a memory. "There. That's better." Zoe sat there, back propped up against the wall and legs folded. The little life she held was so warm and comforting. It was a calming feeling and the sudden tired of the day caught up to Zoe. It was a very rare job that she got to be in her own bed, no guns shooting at her or feds on tail. Her heavy eyelids slipped closed without her consent. With the baby still wrapped in her arms, Zoe fell into a restful sleep. A sleep of no nightmares.

The next thing Zoe knew a weight was being lifted from her. She didn't open her eyes, not right away, she tried to hang on the peace that sleep had brought. But then a sound, a silly, ridiculous sound pulled Zoe away from her intentions. Slowly she let her eyes drift open careful to not draw attention to herself.

Wash was standing a little ways off, the baby safely snuggled in his arms. He didn't notice her eyes on him, instead he was all funny faces and nonesense. The little boy, three months old, was already laughing, those tiny hands grabbing up towards Wash's nose. Zoe couldn't help but smile. A wistful yearning resurfacing into her mind. Damn, he'd make such a great father.

Wash shifted the weight of the little thing into the other arm, finally catching Zoe's eyes. There was a strange moment that passed between the two, something unspoken but hopeful. Zoe inched herself of the bed, stretching away the last bits of sleep. She must've been out for only a little while, the ship was still quiet and with a peaceful empty feel to it. Zoe walked up behind Wash, wrapping her arms around his waist and rested her chin softly on his shoulder. "You up to play family 'til they get back, husband?"


	6. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe says goodbye.

It's a month after the funeral and Serenity is flying once more. A little slower and with more bumps than any of the crew was used to, but she kept going strong. They all did. Even Zoe. There were glances from the others, softer voices, and sometimes a cut off sentence here or there. Zoe didn't mind. Much. They had all lost and they were all recovering in their own way. She kept quite, but present. There was no locking herself into her room, no refusing to speak to anyone. Mal appreciated her for that, thought her strong, but he'd always known she was strong. Everyone knew she was strong. Any fear of her trying to hurt herself or join her husband floated away more and more each day. So when Zoe stopped Mal right at the mouth of the bridge and asked if she could take the shuttle out for a day, he didn't hesitate to let her and for that Zoe was grateful.

She was more quite that day, going around her bunk and packing. The old blanket, a bottle of cheap asian liquor from the back of their— her closet, and a dinosaur she didn't really know the name of. Her cloth sack bulged, not used to being so filled. She took one moment to take a deep breath. The bunk still smelled like them, but it was growing fainter each day. Zoe feared the day when that scent would be gone forever. No bringing it back. It would forever be stuck in an unreachable past.

The fly wasn't all that bad, Serenity had looped back around and had already been awful close to Mr. Universe's Moon. Zoe figured they all knew where she was going, didn't take a genius to, really. She landed the shuttle a little ways off from the three graves. She didn't want to disturb them. There was a moment of hesitation before Zoe clambered outta the shuttle, she hadn't been there since the funeral and afterwards, through a dark and intense numbness, she'd sworn to not go back for a long time. Now she was breaking that promise, but she needed to. She needed a real goodbye.

Zoe's eyes didn't leave the holographic picture of Wash for a long time. She silently thanked Kaylee for obsessing over that damn camera of hers and catching Wash like that, in a moment of happy contentedness. It was how Zoe wanted to remember him always. She smiled, despite the lump forming in her chest. She'd missed that face. Several minutes pass as she stared, but then Zoe remembered why she was here and cleared her throat. She pulled the sheet out of her bag, careful not to drop the glass bottle accidentally. She forgot to bring a cup, but that's alright. Not like she had anyone to share it with.

"You know," Zoe's voice was scratchy, but warm. She felt a bit ridiculous, talking to no one there, but Wash always did have a certain fondness for the wacky and silly. She supposed it was apropos. "Everyone thinks that I need to forget, they avoid the subject of you at all cost, least in front of me." Zoe took a small sip from the bottle, it burned her throat and tasted as cheap as it cost, but Zoe cherished it. This was their drink. Under current circumstances, though, she probably should only drink that little bit. "But they don't understand. That time we had, together, short and sweet, it was—" Zoe felt herself getting all choked up, but there was no one to see her, no reason not to just unashamedly feel. "It was the time of my life and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I want to remember, I want to always remember because the minute I forget it'll be like it never happened. But it did, baby, it did. Oh god." The tears were falling and Zoe made no attempt to stop them. "I don't regret it, not one minute, Hoban Washburne. Not any fight or glare or nothing. I had never expected it to happen, not to me, not with you. But what we had— I'll always remember it like that, unpredictable and perfect for what it was. You were what healed me, that fork in the road, and I'll love you long as I live." She had to stop talking, her throat closed up and her tears weren't letting.

Instead, Zoe took the dinosaur outta her bag, her hands shaking under the tears. She placed it careful at the foot of the stone grave. The little beast looked up at her and Zoe could almost feel it mourning along with her. She'd come to say goodbye, but she also had come to make sure Wash wasn't alone. She still had her crew and the little baby growing inside of her. Now Wash would have a dino to keep him company, it wasn't much, but it was all Zoe could do. "Goodbye husband. And be good."


	7. One Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe returns after a delayed job.

The job had gone a week longer than planned. Not because of the flying or any trouble on boat. A three day job turned into ten. Ten days of Mal and Zoe and no communication back to Serenity. There hadn't been access. There hadn't been time. In the end it was successful enough, but neither Mal nor Zoe were sure if Serenity'd be back where they had left her all those days ago. But she had been, Zoe knew why, too, and it pulled at her weary heart.

The reunion hadn't been joyous. Wash looked a mess and a sharp guilt stabbed at Zoe. Hadn't been her fault, she had to tell herself. Hell, without her, job could have lasted much longer. She remembered her own distress, however, when Mal and Wash had gone off and been snatched by Niska. It had taken an hour to strike a chilling fear into Zoe. Imagine a week.

There was an irregular quiet between the two as Wash and Zoe got ready to sleep. They'd both showered, undressed, and got into bed without so much as idle chatter. Zoe didn't like it. She understood it, she did, but she'd been gone for ten days. Ten days without a word from her husband and now that she was back all she got was silence. Wash's worry had eaten away at him. She saw it in the bags under his eyes, in the fact Serenity had still been parked in place. He'd thought she was dead. Now, in the dark of their bunk, Zoe was left to stare at the back of his head and the stiff of his neck. She couldn't take it.

"Wash." The muscles in his shoulders shifted in response, but there was still a tangible silence in the air. "Tai kong suo you di xing qui dou sai jin wo de pi gu will you look at me!" There was annoyance in Zoe's voice she wished she could hide. A spark of exasperation that she hadn't intended. Slowly, deliberately and infuriatingly slow, Wash shifted onto his back. His eyes met hers a second, the blue duller than she'd ever seen it. Zoe lifted her chin to rest on the tip of his shoulder.

"I'm here, baby," her words came out low and soft, lips only an inch or two from Wash's. "I'm not going anywhere." Eyes meeting in the darkness, she felt him waiver and curled her fingers with his. "So, if you wanna sulk our time together away—" But then he stopped her with a kiss. Gentle at first, but soon it grew hungry. All his built up unease and fear poured into Zoe and she grabbed at him, melting into Wash like she was nothing more than ice. She was finally home.


	8. Birthday Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe finds Wash's stash under their bunk.

She found the stash under their bed. Streamers, wrapping paper, hell, Wash had even managed party hats this year. Zoe sighed and shook her head. He knew she didn't want this. Birthdays might be a bigger accomplishment in their line of work than in others but it was still just a day. One day in many and it couldn't be wasted on sentiment.

They went over it every year, too. Towards the end of January Zoe'd sit Wash down and say again "I don't want nothin' fancy, okay? Don't want nothin' at all." But every year he'd manage to forget. A smile pulled at Zoe's mouth, however, as she inspected her husband's contraband. These party hats sure were a first.

Quietly she stuffed the goods back. Wash would be coming to bed soon and Zoe'd pretend she'd not seen the evidence of his disregard. She'd pretend to be pleasantly annoyed when the 15th rolled along and she found herself in a room full of crewmates looking ridiculous, but none more ridiculous than the idiot front and center.


	9. What Mal Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe and Mal share a moment following the death of Wash

Zoe sat outside of the infirmary as Simon prepped Wash for the funeral. Alliance may have patched the crew up, but they had been left to deal with the dead on their own. It had been Zoe who'd first reached Wash's husk — skin hanging limply off of bone and muscle, too cold to the touch, body molded and set into the chair. Mal and Jayne had arrived soon after. She let them do it, unable to bring herself to touch him anymore. Now, the corpse no longer littering the sanctity of the bridge, Zoe began caving into herself. Her body felt cold and disconnected, a strangling feeling making each breath that managed to form in her lungs a pain to exhale.

Inhaling was worse.

With eyes frozen to the windows of the infirmary and all her stiff senses numbed to the worn couch, she barely noticed when someone joined her. All she knew was that she was witness now, witness to everything she knew dying. The presence moved, shifting the air uncomfortably around her. Zoe didn't want to face Mal. She didn't want to face anyone. The war had left scars only Wash had been able to heal. Who was left to heal her now?

Mal cleared his throat and Zoe registered a warmth on her dumb, clenched fists. Simon's preparations moved him to block Zoe's view of open gashes and brown blood and lifeless eyes. His action was an invitation. Look at your sergeant, soldier! Zoe obeyed, her sunken eyes matched by a pair just as sunken, but not quite as empty. Dying motivation keeping the words limply in her throat. She just stared.

And Mal stared right back. He was a mess still, even with all the patching the feds did. But Mal was alive and Zoe couldn't forgive him for that. Everyone who wasn't dead should be if the only person that mattered was. Zoe didn't count herself. She felt the lifelessness of her existence drown her. The silence between her and her captain — once so knowing and reassuring — was now as foreign as the idea of sleeping alone had been just the day before.

Mal saw this in Zoe, he saw the schism that the harpoon had created the moment it hit Wash's chest. And Zoe saw that he saw. After a minute, Mal opened his mouth. His rough voice softened only by the words which he spoke, his hand attempting to squeeze some life back into his first mate. "Love is watching someone die."

And he wasn't talking about Wash.


	10. Just You Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe wakes up the morning after one of the first nights.

Rain tapped on the useless windows of Zoe's bunk. It was a soft pitter-patter, a reminder that they were planetside and not floating in a vast exspance of the Black. That within itself was strange, but the fact that when Zoe turned around there was someone else in her bunk was almost nearly just as absurd. Absurd was a great word for it too.

A week ago, the idea of Wash this close to her— and this naked this close to her — would have sounded like something out of a crazy person's imagination. But there he was, second night in a row, too. Zoe blamed the land crazy for the bunk hopping and from that wished they'd never have to leave atmo again. Maybe hiring Bester hadn't been so bad after all…

Quietly, Zoe moved from the mattress, trying hard not to disturb Wash as she did. She glided gracefully to her dresser, careful to step over the discarded mess of clothing from the night before. She'd deal with all of that in the hours to come. The hours when Zoe'd go back to pretending to merely tolerate the pilot. Wash would go back to helping Bester figure out why Serenity wouldn't budge. There was no pretending time had stopped turning, no arguing over whether it was the nightingale or the lark. It was always the lark.

Once attired with her usual shades of brown, Zoe walked briskly to the ladder knowing better than to loiter for too long. Mal might come looking for her and find more than he'd bargained for. It wasn't until Zoe's foot was already resting on the first step that she looked back towards her bed. Wash was up, drowsy as hell, but awake. His hair was bent all funny from either the sex or the sleep, Zoe wasn't quite sure.

"Any chance you can bring me some breakfast?" He asked through a yawn. Hopeful blue sparkled from his eyes.

"What do I look like to you? Your wife?" Zoe raised an eyebrow and started up the ladder. She didn't let herself think too hard about what she had said. Matrimony was taboo. Mal and experience made sure of that.

It wasn't until she was about to shut the metal door of her bunk, that Zoe heard Wash's muffled voice float up to send her off. "Just you wait, Alleyne." Against all of Zoe's better judgement, she grinned. "Just you wait."


	11. Trails in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe and River pay their remembrances.

Zoe bundled the coat tighter around her, the snowflakes floating down from the sky stuck to her curls, speckling the brown with a frosty white. The woman looked over to her right. River wasn't hardly even dressed for mild temperatures, a thin shawl the only thing protecting her bare arms from the bitter winter cold. "Maybe we should head back?" Zoe nodded to the ship only a little ways behind them. But River didn't speak and so Zoe didn't pry.

Together they stood there as the harsh winds nipped at their noses and the snow tucked them in. The little tombstone looked bundled up under all the snow, but the hologram kept right on flickering. Wash's smile didn't feel the chill of winter.

The girl and the woman looked on, paying their respects in each their own way. When Zoe's final thought had passed — a goodbye which still felt as dense in her chest as it had the first time a couple months back — she found River's hand and gave it a squeeze. "You ready? Don't want you to catch your death out here."

And with that, the two turned around and headed back to their ship leaving a trail in the snow behind them.


	12. The Last Four Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early in the morning of their four year anniversary, Zoe looks back at it all and thinks on all of it yet to come.

Four years. The number swirled around the darkness of their bunk. Four years to the day and it still felt new. Each day both a routine and a gift— well between the guns and starving and the like. They'd fallen into it, at least Zoe had, and four years ago they had sealed it with words and a promise. As Zoe's eyes adjusted to the dark, Wash's sleeping figure became more distinct. Steady breaths telling her two important things: Wash was still alive but he was dead asleep. For him, their anniversary wouldn't come into being until the morning. Long as the course they'd set for Boros was as fed and reaver free as the crew hoped. Zoe didn't mind it, though. She was fine letting her husband sleep the first hours of this day away.

In a couple years time, maybe the novelty would wear off. Hell, if Zoe made it to a decently old age, maybe they'd even stop celebrating it. What was one day out of thousands? Four years was a lot, but a lifetime was a whole hell of a lot more. Zoe settled deeper into their bed as this thought took hold. It had been her bunk that had started it, hadn't it? It wasn't so much bunk hopping as finding each other in her room – alone, unrestricted by her stubbornness or Mal's oblivious gaze. Wash even had that gorram mustache the first couple 'a time, hadn't he? Truth be told, Zoe couldn't quite remember. That unpleasantness fogged by the surprise and excitement which still surrounded memories of first touches and stolen kisses.

They still laughed about the beginning. Kaylee enjoyed Wash's tales of unrequited (except not truly unrequited) love and heroically charming attempts at winning Zoe's fancy. It really was quite comical, at least coming from Wash's mouth. Zoe'd sit back, nodding or rolling her eyes when appropriate. The stories never went on that long, Mal or Jayne usually interrupting for one reason or another. But that was never the end. Hours later, tucked away safely in their little domestic bubble, Zoe and Wash would finish the anecdote up. Usually with a kiss. Or something a little more fun.

They hadn't needed to get married, not all official like. Hell, if Mal hadn't been so against their union, he would have been able to do it himself – captain of a ship and all. But maybe it meant something that it wasn't held in Serenity, like they weren't constricting themselves to only that life. Not forever. Four years and they were still here. Mal still needed Zoe and she still needed Mal. But less and less each day. Wash still needed the sky. He'd always need it, but Serenity didn't have to be the only way to live out in the black. They both knew it. Sometimes little suggestions that it was on their mind would fly carelessly to and fro. A word here, a sentence there. Silence. Then moving on. Like they would some day. Maybe when four turned into five or six or seven. When their two became three. Eventually. She tried not to rush it. Not really.

Amazing how much had changed from the first time she'd laid eyes on him to now. That there was nearly five years ago. Distrust to loyalty. Loathing to love. Life's a funny thing. That's what Zoe thought as sleep crept up on her – a warm hand pulling her away from memories and onto dreams. Nightmares, really, unless her mind proved to be kind. But how bad could the damn illusions be when she'd wake up to the culmination of four years. The best four years of her life, summed up in a simple, underused phrase maybe she'd utter this time around. I love you


	13. Four Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been four years since she buried her husband. Now Zoe and her daughter visit his grave.

The small, nervous hand clutched tightly in her own was the only thing moving Zoe forward. Four years. It had been four years since the funeral, since she'd first taken those same steps. She still felt the ghost of her past self. A trail of lonesome white gliding across the barren land to the resting place of those lost for Miranda. If it wasn't for her daughter, Zoe might have relapsed back into the numb of last time, the pain. There had been so much of it, fearful and huge, engulfing every sense she had. Now though, the scar of four years was only a sadness, intense, but reasonable. Zoe would never stop loving the man buried beneath their feet. He'd given her joy and he'd given her life. He'd given her reason to love. Wash's hologrammed face became clearer the closer they got. Zoe's chest tightened, but it was Emma who pulled back.

"Momma, I'm scared." It took a second for Zoe to untangle her own emotions, to focus on her child's. But only a second. In no time, Zoe knelt down, level with Emma's blue eyes. Wash's eyes. Zoe recognized the anxious fear – three year olds ain't the trickiest puzzle to solve – but she couldn't understand why. "You wanted to visit daddy, didn't you?" Zoe looked over her shoulder to the grave, then nodded towards it. "Give him his presents? Say that lovely speech you prepared?" Emma nodded, but her lips were pressed tightly shut. It was only the two of them here and maybe that's what had sparked the child's shyness. Maybe if Mal had been there or Kaylee, Emma wouldn't be so hesitant. There's braveness in numbers, but now her daughter just clung on to Zoe. She looked so lost.

"What are you afraid of? The dead can't hurt you, darlin' girl." Emma looked down at her shoes. She was wearing her best little sandals: real leather soles with little cloth flowers scattered about. In fact, her whole outfit consisted of all of Emma's most favorite articles of clothing. So, of course, nothing matched. But Zoe couldn't help but think how gorgeous her daughter looked, how vibrant. Wash would have loved it – the colors, the disarray – just like he would have loved her.

"What if I mess up?" A little ache pulled at Zoe's heart, but she kept her face collected, her voice strong. It was hard, though, when all she wanted to do was hold her daughter tight and let herself unwind against the what-ifs buried along with her husband. "There's nothing to mess up, baby." Zoe lifted a hand and smoothed down a bit of Emma's curls. Her eyes holding her daughter's, stern but loving. "Your daddy loves you. Wherever he is, he's watchin' over you. Always has been. Now it's your turn." A little shift in Emma took place right before Zoe's eyes. Muscles relaxing, panic dulling. Determination flowering. Now all her baby needed was a push. And that's exactly what Zoe gave her. "Go say hi."

Zoe didn't go with Emma, instead watching her little girl stumble towards the headstone of a man she'd never known. She should have known. Zoe would always be bitter. But spite was replaced the moment Emma plopped herself down in front of the thing – head pointed towards the smiling face of her father. Zoe could see the words in the little shifts of her daughter's head, occasionally catching a word or two soaring on the wind. Hi daddy… momma still misses… Uncle Mal says… best pilot… last drawing I… love you… Then Zoe saw Emma rummage through the little cloth sack she'd set aside, the two little toy dinosaurs peaking out. She placed them very carefully at the foot of the grave, all the while chatting away. Zoe looked from her child – their child – to Wash. Then back. A funny sensation filled throughout Zoe's body and it wasn't until Emma was back at her side – worried atmo eyes looking into Zoe's – that Zoe realized she had been crying. Her daughter's never seen her cry before. She took a step forward, still a ways away, taking in not only the headstone, but the entirety of her past etched in the early evening sky. Tears still slid down Zoe's cheeks, but words finally formed. Words for him. "We done good, Wash." She scooped Emma into her arms, smiling despite the tears. That man always did have a knack for making her smile. Together mother and daughter looked on as a setting sun began to form shadows around the three little graves. Zoe's gaze shifted to Emma, the child's own tear stained cheeks reflecting the oranges and pinks of the twilight sky. "We done good."


	14. Man and Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate Post-Serenity Zoe.

The Alliance had patched them up shiny, but they had seemed to overlook the gapping whole in Zoe's chest. There was that old saying, man and woman were one flesh. She'd never much agreed with that old religious gou se, but as she slowly died over and over again during the flight back to Serenity, she felt it. In the back of her mind, beneath all the numbness and pain, there was still a glimmer of hope. They'd left as soon as it had happened, Mal dragging her, Zoe struggling for a while, but then resolve had pushed her forward. Maybe in that short expanse of time, they'd been wrong. Misread. The crew would get back and there he'd be, Wash, waiting for them all to return just like every other job. He'd hold her tight in his arms and Zoe'd collapse into him, healed by just the fact that he was.

Maybe that's why she'd made a point of being the first to go back inside their home. Not the grief, not the anguish, but the hope. The same hope which drained out of her body the second she approached the bridge. It smelled like rotting flesh. The recognition, the understanding paralyzed Zoe. The woman who'd faced reavers and alliance was scared. She was a like a kid again, in a dark room with no light. The fear of this darkness — this absence of life — overtook her. She didn't know how she managed to take anymore steps. But she did. And there he was. The flight suit seemed too big for him. So did his skin. He'd always been pale, but now he slouched a pearly grey. The hole in Zoe got larger each second she stared. Not a sound escaped her throat, not a breath. It was consuming her, eating her alive. Soon she'd be nothing. She felt it, felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge of something terrible. Only her back ached, a reminder of the stupidity of loving and losing. Death wish.

If man and woman were one flesh, how come she could still breath?


	15. Died So I Could Haunt You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the death of her mother, Zoe realizes something very important about life.

Zoe's fingers pressed lightly against the worn wood leaving little imprints on the forming layer of dust. The ancient dresser was a clutter of sentiment. Her mother's entire life strewn across every inch of the thing. Plastic pearls dangled over half burned candles. A framed picture of a drawing Zoe's eldest brother had made when he was five cast a shadow over the death certificate, also his. Shawls, dust covered hologram chips, a rusty old hammer, ornate chopsticks older than Zoe herself. If her mother had owned it, then it was there. Zoe's hand moved to a single leather glove. Through the fog of Serenity and war, Zoe could recall this glove. It had been a staple of her vesselborn youth. Now its fate had brought it planetside, doomed to be forgotten the moment Zoe left this place. She was the last Alleyne now, a badge she wore not so much outta pride, but loyalty.

She picked up the glove, its warmth oddly juxtaposed with the chill of the small house. As she lifted it up, Zoe's eyes were attracted to a large pile of papers the glove had been holding down. Her own name stood out against the first page, made all the more bright by the familiar and loving scrawl it was written in. Zoe tossed the glove aside, forgetting its existence.  _My dearest Zoe..._

Zoe grabbed the top paper, the one for her. Dammit! She'd promised herself no keepsakes. Without a will, her mother had burdened Zoe with nothing and that's the way Zoe'd planned on keeping it. Now though, as the sheet of paper wrinkled in her grasp, Zoe knew she wouldn't be able to part with it. Zoe's ma was a woman whose essence was painted through her words. There was an art to her language. She made music without a tune and taught lessons no book could imprison. Be a right shame to have all that forgotten and buried with her.

It hadn't been Zoe's intention to stay overnight. Sleeping alongside ghosts of her past wasn't a thing Zoe ever woulda chosen to do on her own. Trouble was she wasn't alone. Mal still didn't know, but her and the pilot had been sharing more than words in the dark corners of Serenity. What had started as distaste for the man had turned to... well something of a very different nature. When Zoe'd asked the captain for a day off to see to her mother's funeral, Wash had forcefully insisted – well as forcefully as that man could – that he tag along, you know, for piloting purposes. Mad as she'd been then, as Zoe made her way back to her old bedroom, a sleeping Wash bringing life back into the room, Zoe was thankful he was there.

The funeral had been nothing fancy. Wooden box, boring preacher, prayers for a god Zoe's mother had never cared much for. That whole time, as they dropped Zoe's last family member – the woman who had not only given her life, but also so much love – into the ground, Wash had been at her side, solemn and thoughtfully quiet. His hand never once left hers. When the night came, settling over the bordermoon like a roughly knit quilt, he still hadn't let go. His smile was back though, the playful gleam in his eye. They fell asleep entangled together that night in a bed Zoe hadn't been in since before the war.

Now, as Zoe sat back down on the bed, Wash's dormant presence was urging her on.  _Come on, Zo. Read the damn thing._ She'd known what the paper was moment she saw it. A couple months back she'd sent her ma a letter. It was their communication, little pieces of paper flying through the Black towards one another. This time, however, Zoe's letter hadn't been followed by a reply. Though it never made it to space, it would seem her mother had responded. There just hadn't been enough time...

Wash's steady breath kept her own lungs in check as Zoe began to read.

_My dearest Zoe,_

_Your words always give me such delight, baby girl. Last letter came to me a week into this sickness of mine and I swear the moment I began reading, it was like someone had injected me with fancy Alliance meds. Felt like those far away stars, bright and alive. Like the ones we used to spend hours naming when you were no more than a babe in that old boat of ours. I miss those days, child. Miss the days when you were still a kid and hadn't seen what you've seen and hadn't done what you've done. Time's fickle like that. Gives us too much when we don't need it and runs away when we do._

_Seems to me you know all this quite well if those stories you tell me of you and that captain Reynolds are true. Seems like a fine, upstanding, pompous, egomaniac to me, but whose asking. But he kept you alive during the war and now he's keeping you busy after. That's all we can hope for now. Well, that's not quite true, though, is it, baby girl?_

_Which brings me to that pilot you so colorfully described. Remember back in Whitefall, summer when you were ten and found that baby calf one day when you and the boys were out playing? Lord, they cooed over that thing, treating it like their own. But you, Zoe, you just stood there a look of disgust on your face. You wouldn't go near the thing, acted like you hated it. The boys brought it home, you keeping your distance behind them, scowling all the way. For weeks you wouldn't go near it. Baby, you avoided that thing like the plague. The whole while, though, you were never happy away from it. Then that month it died, I could tell you took it hardest. Never so much as smiled at the beast, but the moment it was gone from this life, your heart just broke in two._

_The trouble is, daughter, you're too stubborn. You think you push something away enough times, reject it in every ounce of you, then you'll never love it. You'll never get hurt by it. I'm sorry to say, baby girl, life ain't like that. You're gonna love and you're gonna hurt, but you can't be so afraid of losing something that you ain't gonna try and have it. So give that gorram pilot a chance, then bring him 'round sometime to meet me._

_I love you, Zoe_

_Your Mama_

Zoe's fingers moved over the last line of the letter, a single tear tracing the side of her cheek. Her ma knew her, better than Mal or Tracey or Bester. She'd seen immediately what Zoe hadn't. Zoe had needed that letter, a goodbye that didn't end with a prayer, but with a future. Zoe glanced back at the bundle of sheets that was Wash. She thought of the previous day, how right it had felt sharing that piece of her past with him. She thought of the past month or so, the bunk sharing and teasing. He made her laugh and smile, two things she'd thought war had stolen away from her forever. The words of her mother's final letter burned inside Zoe's mind.  _You're right, ma._  A sudden, but inevitable thought, terrifying and true, burst inside Zoe's brain.  _I love him._  It kept repeating over and over 'til it was more than a thought. It was a reality.

"Wash!" Zoe tugged at the man's arm. "Get up, we're gonna be late." Wash groaned, forcing his eyes open groggily.

"Late?" His voice was muffled by sleep. "For what exactly?"

"Wedding," Zoe pulled the covers off of him. Startled by the suddenly not comfy, Wash scrambled to a sitting position. The initial shock replaced by confusion.

"Since when were we going to a wedding? Who's getting married?"

Zoe placed Wash's cloths next to him before taking a moment to look at that man. Those atmo eyes drew her in, sparkling like the sky and the sea. She met them with a fire in her own eyes. She placed a quick kiss on his lips. When she pulled back, confidence had blossomed inside her. She loved that damn man. "We are."


	16. Lullaby

It was too early in the morning, the cries drawing Zoe out of sleep. She didn't mind all too much. Sleeping had become more of a chore this past year, something she was forced to do more out of necessity than want. The crying though… Zoe got up, letting her eyes adjust to the familiar dark of the bunk, and made her way to the makeshift crib. Sure enough, Emma's blue eyes glowed through the dim, all watery from tears yet to be shed.

"Hush," Zoe cooed, gently lifting the squirming child into her arms. Emma quieted for a second, but then whined, a shrill sound like the breaking of glass. Zoe pulled the little bundle closer, Emma's tiny little body warm against Zoe's chest. After placing a soft kiss on her daughter's forehead Zoe cleared away the sleep from her voice and began to sing.

_Twinkle twinkle little star_  
 _How I wonder what you are_  
 _Up above the world so high_  
 _Like a diamond in the sky…_


	17. Revisiting Serenity Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter says it all

There was a monument framed between the two mountains. Looming and pristine. There was a manufactured glory to it, shining brighter than the startling blue of the sky. Fourteen years ago the sky had never been so damn blue. She could see it then, with every blink the friendly spring shades bled into thick shadows. The green fields turned barren and ran with a congealing red. The occasional stench of rot and bitter loss intermingled with strategically planted flowers. A little bubbling brook. Serenity Valley was a place of death and no matter what the Alliance did, it always would be. No amount of terraforming or invested credits could quell the ghosts still lying across the too emerald grass.

"Ooh! A park!" The small hand slipped from Zoe's and in a fit of excitement, Emma ran forward a couple of steps before a sheepish realization stopped the girl in her tracks. A she turned around and her eyes met her mother's, Zoe found reassurance that in this place of death at least one thing was alive.

"Go ahead," the voice came from behind her, the light tone displaced against the refurbished setting. Emma looked nervously from Zoe to the voice and then back to her mother Zoe nodded. Encouraging Mal's words with a strained smile. "We'll be right there." The hesitation lingered a moment longer, her mother's words contradicting her countenance. But the eagerness of still being a child shifted the girl's loyalties, convincing Emma that it really was okay. And then the girl became nothing but a blur across the artificial green.

Surreal, that's what this was. A sudden onslaught of Zoe's past with her future. The ground her daughter's small feet were running through was a mass graveyard of men and women Zoe'd once known. Men and women who could just as easily have been Zoe. She didn't want to be there, didn't want her kid playing in a memorial park built for the sons of bitches who'd rained fire down on the Independents and followed Zoe even after. The same people responsible for Emma not having a father.

"Zoe…" The light touch on her shoulder reminded Zoe to take a breath. She didn't want to fill her lungs with this air, but she did. Didn't have much of a choice. Zoe's eyes drifted away from the patch of grass where Emma had been and focused on Mal. The same Mal who'd saved her from this place. Saved her from a whole lot.

"Don't know what's worse: The lie 'a this or what if would be like if they'd just left it like it was." Far off in the distance, Zoe could make out the laugh of her daughter. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe this was one lie that she could abide.


	18. Everybody Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mal finds out that his first mate and pilot have been having... relations.

Zoe trailed a few paces behind Mal. Like always, her head was held high, although her fingers were still working to button up her top. Well, that hadn't exactly been the ideal way for the captain to find out. Especially with it being on the bridge and all. Zoe'd never quite seen that look in Mal's eyes before and as they walked — to where she couldn't really say — Zoe knew that this was the moment. She'd say her piece and Mal would have to either let be or deal.

The dining area didn't seem the ideal place to have this talk. Any moment Kaylee could walk right in on them. Or Wash. Although after the recent... position Mal had last seen him in, seemed unlikely the pilot would be sauntering about carelessly for a long while. Instinctively Zoe took a seat, the captain sitting opposite her. For a long time neither of them spoke. Zoe saw the masked betrayal under Mal's eyes. The confusion. She really should have told time sooner, she knew as much, but the time when that mattered was over. He knew, at least a piece of it, and all Zoe could do was explain it in simplest form. Her ultimatum already at hand if the occasion came to set one down.

"I understand that women folk," Mal, finally speaking, gestured to Zoe, his arm flailing ever so slightly. "Got just as much... urges as us men do."

"Ah," Zoe's mock tone of surprise not so much as touching the stone of her eyes. Suddenly she knew exactly where this was going. "That so, sir?"

"And sometimes we just gotta… satisfy 'em, let go and, well, you know." It was very near painful to watch him at go it. Zoe'd seen the man face down armies with a straight and steady back, but to talk about sex? Poor fool. Wash would've had a good laugh if he were here. Thank the lord he wasn't. Clearing his throat, Mal continued. "So I get the bunk and, uh, bridge sharin'. I  _really_  do."

"Ain't an ich, sir."

"Huh?" Mal looked straight at Zoe, comprehension not quite cracking through that skull of his. "Zoe, what're you—"

"Wash ain't just some ich I can scratch and let be."

"I wasn't sayin—" Mal stumbled over himself, struggling to find words. Finally, he just sighed. "He's fond 'a you. Don't think I ever seen so much affection in a man. All I mean to say is don't indulge the poor bastard much longer, alright? Not lookin' to search for a new pilot anytime soon."

"Sir?" It was Zoe's turn to be confused. Her brow furrowed, the meaning of the captain's words lost in the dim flicker of the table's light. There was a time not too long ago, the two of them could understand each other without a single word exchanged. Maybe the war  _was_  finally over…

"The sooner you break it off, the less likely he'll take off for another job. We still got jobs need doin', can't do 'em if our broken hearted pilot jumps ship." The way Mal was looking at Zoe was with so much damn earnest. Like he knew exactly what he was talking about, like he was bestowing some homily of wisdom upon his vixen of a first mate. Zoe didn't let him down easy.

"I wasn't plannin' on breakin' it off."

The statement was simple enough, seven words spoken even and crisply. The effect of it, though, seemed to hit Mal like a bullet. Impact exploding against his chest, the force of each small word knocking him back. Zoe never contradicted him. Sometimes she'd utter a warning, cautioning him against a plan too brazen or a loop hole to big. But for her to, what, disobey? The corporal doesn't disobey the sergeant. And certainly not Corporal Zoe Alleyne.

"Z-Zoe?!" The strangled exclamation elicited no guilt within the woman. She just looked on as finally —  _finally_  — Mal was beginning to get it. What Zoe was harboring with Wash wasn't a fling or something held lightly. Not to her and certainly not to him. Honestly, she'd anticipated Mal's shock. "Zoe!" Mal's jaw hung open dumbly limp, gapping at his most trusted friend. And for what it was worth, Zoe let him have this moment, this time to process and calm down. He was taking his sweet time with it too, stopping normal speech for confused grunts and half spoken chinese curses. Finally though, Mal closed his mouth, forming a tight line with his lips. A balled fist fell to the table with an echoing thud. "No shipboard romances. Rule don't exclude you. They make for unneeded complications."

"An unneeded complication was you hirin' a mechanic couldn't tell the difference between a compression coil and a slinky." Zoe leaned forward, facing Mal across a table the two of them had hauled into the ship before Serenity even had a crew. She made sure his eyes were on her own. He needed to understand. "I care about Wash. He's given me things I haven't had since before the war and I'm not strictly talkin' sex here, sir. I damn well think I love the man."

Zoe lay witness as the words she'd spoken — a sentiment she hadn't even overtly expressed to Wash yet! — sunk deep into Mal's brain. She waited. Unsure whether to go on or let the captain have a few more moments to understand.

"You love him?" Zoe could hear that a great deal of the fight in Mal's word had gone. Resignation or at least the beginnings of it taking root.

"Yes."

"And I suppose sayin' that not marrying him is an order won't do much to change your mind?"

"No."

Mal sighed, leaning back and running his fingers through his hair. Zoe didn't move. Once more time passed, the only indication was the little creaks of Serenity every now and again. Mal's face was pointing towards the ceiling, but Zoe could read it nonetheless. There was nothing Mal could do or say would change a thing and it wasn't like he was gonna kick two of his most reliable crew off the ship because they wanted to be happy.

And they would be happy.

Zoe'd never been more sure of anything before in her life.


	19. Sustained Head Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening after the crew's first encounter with "Saffron".

Finally some married Washburne fluff!

Although the excitement from Saffron's visit had begun to simmer down and return to some semblance of normal, things seemed a bit off in the Washburne bunk. Or maybe that was just Wash's sustained head injury. The two lay quietly side by side, lights out, though neither of them were asleep. Tensions seemed to be nuzzled between the couple, broken finally as Zoe turned over, her front facing Wash. The look on her face was stern, but other than that unreadable. Even for Wash. Or, again, could just be the blow to the head.

"I gotta know," Zoe's voice was low, her brow furrowed ever so slightly. "Can you do it?"

"What?" Wash also shifted onto his side, eye to eye with his wife. He frowned. "What're you talking about?"

Zoe paused, inhaling long and slow. Her face still stone. "Can you juggle geese?"

For a moment, Wash just stared at the solemn looking Zoe, his mouth hanging slightly open in confusion. But then his forehead smoothed over, the corners of hip lips turning up. When the man laughed it was like someone had turned on the damn lights. Zoe broke then too, laughing along with her husband and resting a hand on his biceps.

Took some time, but the laughing finally died down. Sparkling eyes meeting Zoe's, Wash began to speak, still chuckling to himself. "Tell you what, next vacation you and me can visit the moon." The tension Wash had thought he'd felt was gone now, only the usual content of him and her, so close, and so very naked remained. He wiggled his eyebrows at Zoe. "Never could resist showing off for a pretty lady."

Zoe chuckled again. "I'm lookin' forward to it." She yawned then, sleep finally creeping up. Her eyes wandered up to the swollen mark Saffron's heel had left on Wash's forehead. Lifting her hand from her husband's arm, she ran her fingers through the hair right above the scabbing bruise. The smile wasn't gone from her face, but there was an added tenderness that hadn't been there before. "I love you," Zoe met Wash's eyes and leaned forward, giving him a gently, savory goodnight kiss before pulling back, turning over, and nestling into her pillow with an air of finality. "Now sleep."

"Yes, wife!" Wash still beamed. He reached out and pulled Zoe closer to himself, relishing in the warmth of her body as her back curled against his chest. Inhaling the distinct Zoe smell, her hair tickling his nose, Wash closed his eyes, welcoming dreams of juggled goslings and laughing Zoes.


	20. He Bothered Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He just bothered her!

He bothered her. It was his ego and mustache, but mostly it was his stubborn ability to laugh when all she could feel was the remnants of a steel cold war. He sauntered about her sergeant’s ship like he knew just how to treat Serenity proper. He flew too well, enjoyed the job too much. Of course he didn’t have to deal with the business. Didn’t even know how to handle a gun, she was sure. She didn’t like him.

He bothered her. It was the way he’d wedged himself into her mind, his inappropriate laughter warming up her comfortable chill. She was stone when he was in sight, even colder when he was gone. He drew grace out of her captain’s ship, waltzed them through the black, finding his place in her freedom. He had managed to coax smiles out of all of them. Even her — despite how much she wished he didn’t. She didn’t like him.

He bothered her. It was how the taste of his lips still burned against she own and how her insides ached in the suddenly too lonely bunk. Their mirrored worry when either was put in danger. She’d patched him up. He’d waited for her. It was the knowledge that in some aspects they were a… they. Her smiles were more consistent. He’d even managed to make her laugh. She didn’t like him.

He bothered her. It was one morning when she knew why. Waking up beside him, she saw her affection reflected in his eyes. Happiness, too. She’d gotten more okay with the they, the warmth of it worlds more pleasant than the singular her. He made her laugh, sure, but it was more than just that. He  _was_ her laugh.

She didn’t like Wash, but Zoe might just love him.


	21. Dat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe and her daughter explore Serenity together.

“Dat!”

It was probably close to two in the morning, Serenity’s halls quiet except for the little girl tucked comfortably in her mother’s arms. Happened more often than not, these little night time excursions. Emma’s two years had not yet proven to given her the knowledge she craved, so night after night, hours after her bed time, Emma would wake up and insist on a walk about the ship. Zoe obliged. She always did.  There were a lot of things Zoe wouldn’t be able to say yes to in the future. Luxuries they couldn’t afford, lifestyles they could never follow, but if Zoe was able to give Emma anything at all, she would. And she did.  

Once they were out of the bunk, Zoe would walk slowly throughout the different parts of Serenity, patiently waiting for the small girl in her arms to point and say the magic word: “Dat!” In a soft voice, Zoe would always say the name of whatever “dat” was, it’s purpose, too, or any little tidbit she could think of.

This particular night, Emma’s chubby finger pointed a little wobbly at a hastily framed picture in the galley. Wash’s smiling face only slightly dulled by the duplication. It had been hung as a sort of memorial, a brother to the flickering hologram whose permanent home was on Mr. Universe’s moon. “Daddy,” Zoe said using the same quiet tone. 

"Daddy," Emma mimicked, just as she usually did, but this time gave a knowing little nod, the tiniest of creases crinkling between her eyebrows. "Dinoswaurs," Emma finally nodded, confirming her suspicion. Zoe smiled softly down at her daughter, maybe holding her a little bit tighter than she had been before.

"That’s right, baby." Because it was. In SEmma’s world, Daddy was just a word connected to toys, nothing more. In retrospect, that was probably how Wash would’ve wanted it. At least toys brought joy and laughter. For what felt like the millionth time, Zoe wished he had been able to meet their kid. 

With that same concentrated expression stamped across her small face, Emma lifted up her hand and patted Zoe’s lips. “Sad.” It was a knowing word, Emma nodded with the truth of what she’d said. Wise Emma. Zoe kissed the tiny hand on her lips. “No, baby. Not sad.” Because that wasn’t right. Her daughter shouldn’t feel like anything about Wash was taboo, any conversation about him off limits. The wounds of his death could still be felt in the fabric of life on Serenity, but concealing was no way to heal. Turning a man made of laughter into a topic shrouded in sadness was the last thing Zoe wanted to happen. Emma dropped her hand, her fingers now wrapping around the fabric of Zoe’s nightshirt — one of Wash’s old atrocities — and a pair of big, blue eyes looked up curiously at Zoe. 

"Momma happy?" Emma’s world was so simple. If you weren’t sad you were happy, if you weren’t happy you were sad. It was a fact to the two year old, a fact that was going to be hard to unexplain one day. Zoe didn’t look forward to that. Let the girl believe that there were only ever concrete options; that sad meant not happy and happy meant not sad. So at this question Zoe smiled and it was a genuine kind of smile. 

"I am happy."

"Why?"

That was the newest word in Emma’s vocabulary, although the child hardly used it. Believed easily, trusted easier.  _Wait until she realizes what her family does for a living._  But there were certain things that sparked that word in her. Like now, when a contradiction arose. Zoe could almost see the map of her daughter’s mind. Daddy led to Zoe indicating sadness, but now Zoe had disagreed with that, she’d thrown Emma’s perception off kilter. 

Zoe leaned down, kissing the top of her baby girl’s head. Frizzy curls tickling Zoe’s lips and the tip of her nose. For a moment she was quiet, more emotion than Zoe usually dare show began to leak through the cracks and when she straightened her neck, Zoe had to blink away some tears that had begun to gloss over her eyes. She looked down once more at her daughter. Their daughter.

"Because, baby girl, I got you."


	22. Died for Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mal and Zoe get into an argument.

With a cup of tea hot in her hands, Zoe felt at peace. It had been a long time she had allowed herself time to relax in the slightest. Each and every moment consumed by the baby girl now (hopefully) asleep under Kaylee’s watchful eye. Zoe’s days had been oocupied, switching between the mother and the soldier. The nights were sleepless, always awake and alert. It had gotten to the point where Zoe didn’t even wait for the child’s cries. She could feel them in her gut and in the air and by the time the first cry pierced through the silent ship, Sky was already cradled in her mother’s arms. But now there was no baby in her arms, no job at hand, and nothing but the quiet around her. Zoe needed this. Didn’t necessarily like it, but she needed it.

Serenity was docked in Beamonde. The thriving city outside did nothing to disturd the peace, but still set a small clench of panic within Zoe. Mal and his stupid meetings. The events of Miranda had happened only barely a year ago, but the browncoat movement was already heating up. No one supported the idea of taking down the Alliance more than Zoe, but her priority now was Sky. Little Sky, two and half months old and too young to be anywhere near revolution. It was a shame Mal couldn’t stay away. Speaking of the man, Zoe’s peace of mind shattered away as the far off sound of boots on metal got closer and closer.

“Zoe,” there was something lively in the way Mal pulled out the chair from under the table. He sat down across from her, a spark in his eyes Zoe’d almost forgotten could be there. The meetings had been stirring something up inside her captain, she saw it before, but now he was smiling— Smiling! And not in some half hearted attempt like he did for Inara. Leaning forward Mal caught her eyes in his. “There’s gonna be a meeting next week on Greenleaf. No, now hear me out. Ain’t askin’ you to sign up. Not yet and not with Sky still a little thing. But we’ve gotten a network goin’ and this meeting next week’s gonna be the turnin’ point, Zo. Seventy different stations on ten different planets all plugged in, listenin’, rallyin’ around Miranda.” Zoe didn’t like this, the way Mal was talking. At the mention of Miranda every muscle in her body tensed, her back aching with the ghost of a reaver blade. Mal was oblivious though, kept going with the same rapture in his voice and pleading excitement in his eyes. “Now my words won’t do much. We lost Shepherd to ‘em, but he wasn’t— He wasn’t family, Zo. Got no connection past crew and as deep as that goes… No, so the idea I got is you talkin’. You don’t gotta bring Sky, but if you did, couldn’t hurt. You lost, Zoe. You lost Wash and if you shared that, showed people the cost of—”

“No.” Zoe had stayed silent. Deathly so. But now she wouldn’t hear anymore. Mal’s mouth hadn’t closed yet, the edges of his lips wilted and a little crease formed at his brow. “No way in hell, Mal.”

“Zoe, it won’t mean as much comin’ from me, but you— Jesus, Zoe you lost a—”

“A husband, Mal. Not a martyr.” Although her voice was calm, it was a dangerous sort of calm. “What you’re askin’ me to do, sir, I don’t think you even understand what it means.”

“Damn right, I don’t understand.” Mal leaned back in the chair. He’d gotten leaner these last few months. They were deprived of food, trying their hardest to fly under the radar meant not many jobs and too much of their stored up cash had gone to Zoe and Sky. Mal got hit the hardest. He’d taken the financial place of Wash. Benefactor without need, but damn man wouldn’t take no for an answer. And yet after all of this, he was risking their necks going to every damn browncoat meet he could. “Zoe,” Mal leaned forward again, agression replasing the hope in his eyes. “You got a chance to make people understand. You don’t take it, Wash died for nothin’.”

“Exactly,” Zoe grimaced. “He didn’t die for a cause, sir. Didn’t die for anything. You want me to go up there and use Wash to get people to fight? Wash?” Zoe shook her head, more sadness in the furrow of her brow than frustration. “You think that’s how he should be remembered, how we should honor him? By inspirin’ bloodlust?” It was Zoe’s turn to lean forward, her bones aching. She met Mal, the two of them staring at each other. Seperated by more than just table. “I don’t give a damn what good you think it would do, ain’t talkin’. Not about Wash and certainly not about my daughter.”

“But— But you’re plannin’ on joinin’ the fight, Zo. You’ve told me. You can’t just say now you ain’t doin’ it for Wash. Not after Miranda.”

“I am gonna fight, sir,” Zoe’s voice was calm. “I always woulda fought, but this is a war started before Serenity and you have no right tellin’ me why I’m fightin’ it.” In Zoe’s mind she saw the dulled image of Wash’s face. His grimace whenever her soldier came out. His smile when they were alone, just him and her and nothing else mattering in the whole of creation. “Wash has nothin’ to do with this war or any, you understand?” Zoe stood up then, a riggity in her body she had yet to notice. She wasn’t angry at Mal, not really. But she was frustrated. There was war stirring about in the air, a war she was tied to despite anything else. Even despite her daughter. There was enough tension inside of Zoe without dragging in the only two things in her damn life that didn’t smell of gun powder and carnage. She looked down at Mal from across the table. Confusion was still ingrained in his face. Maybe a little sadness, too. “This is our war, Mal, you ‘n me. Don’t think for a minute it’s anything but.” And with that Zoe turned away from her captain and hurried back to her bunk. Back the only piece of life she was ever able to make among the hundreds she had taken and too soon continue to take.


	23. What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of Miranda, the crew is patching up Serenity.

She feels his eyes on her while she works. Those clear blue eyes she’s looked into so many times, it’s hard to believe the image she conjures no longer is. With the stare she knew so well burning into her, Zoe looks back now and again and is greeted once more by nothing. Maybe not nothing, there’s the one eye on the chair, punctured into the fabric of the pilot’s seat. The chair looks at her with either pity or malice, Zoe can’t quite tell. All she knows is that it isn’t him and goes back to work, telling herself forcefully that it won’t ever be him again.

Zoe works all day, from dawn ‘til dusk. Mal comes in once, tells her lunch is all set, but she returns his information with a steely silence. She needs this day, in the room that was once full of him, to say goodbye. So she works. The window that failed to shield her mister needs polishing. The dashboard needs real repair of the proper tools variety. So Zoe does what needs to be done. That’s just her way. The Alleyne way. 

The Washburne way, now what was that? It meant something special to her, significant. She’d taken his last name afterall. The Washburne way was fought with love, not blood. Patched up souls not ships. And was always good for a laugh. None of that feels much like Zoe right now, truth be told. There’s blood running through her veins, rising to her cheeks as the heat from the drill becomes too intense.  _She’s torn up plenty, but she’ll fly true._  Zoe takes off the goggles, staring down to the tool in her hand. What was Serenity now without Wash to fly her? What was Zoe now without Wash to ground her?

What now?

Zoe’s eyes drift once more to the chair, it’s eye glares back, a dark black void. It’s like she can’t look away. But then a glimpse of spiky blue catches her attention. It’s his stegosaurus, scattered a few feet behind the chair. Carefully Zoe gets up, leaving the goggles and drill behind. She walks cautiously to the toy, for a moment expecting it to get up and just move on. It hasn’t a place here no more. Just something else Wash left behind. But fingers curl around the little plastic thing and it takes a moment for Zoe to register that the fingers belong to her.

Unsure of what exactly she’s doing, Zoe turns to face the dashboard, side by side with the pilot’s seat. She’s been in that spot so many times these past five years, but never on her own. She can almost picture his hair beside her ribcage. Another thing she’ll never see again. But that’s not the point. Precisely, Zoe stands the dinosaur in his proper place. Of course she knows right where Wash liked it most. Turning around, Zoe scans the bridge for more little toys, set to reassemble her husband’s fictional land.

Sentiment.

It’s very Washburne trait. 


End file.
